


Holding Out for a Hero

by Hezjena2023



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: But what do I know, F/F, I'm just speculating wildly, Oneshot, Warrior-Hawke, but isn't it fun to speculate, just a sketch to draft out their dynamic, what would have happened if Fem!Hawke confronted Cassandra after Cassandra confronted Varric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28430544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hezjena2023/pseuds/Hezjena2023
Summary: “Well, Cassandra Pentaghast fancy seeing you here,” Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall purred at Cassandra, her mouth twisting over every syllable of her name with the Ferelden accent that she had never lost.“You’re in my rooms.” Cassandra told her stonily. The irony was stabbing Cassandra in the gut, that she’d spent years searching for Hawke and the moment she had stopped looking, the Champion appeared mockingly in her bedroom.***What if after Cassandra had only been so desperate to find Hawke because they’d hooked up, but Cassandra wasn’t prepared to admit it?
Relationships: Female Hawke/Cassandra Pentaghast
Kudos: 8





	Holding Out for a Hero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jukkari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jukkari/gifts).



> Written for Jukkari, who gave me the amazing idea for this pairing <3

“Well, Cassandra Pentaghast fancy seeing you here,” Marian Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall purred at Cassandra. Marian Hawke’s mouth twisting over every syllable of her name with the Ferelden accent that she had never lost. 

“You’re in my rooms.” Cassandra told her stonily, curt and brisk. She took the moment to breath, unbuckling her sword belt and dumping it down onto the wooden table, refusing to look at the other woman. Cassandra knew that she was hiding from it, the irony that was stabbing her in the gut; that she’d spent years searching for Hawke and the moment she had stopped looking, the Champion appeared mockingly in her bedroom. 

Hawke’s shoulder had been pressed against the wooden frame by the window, far away from the brazier up that she was bathed in shadow. Her back was pressed against the rough limestone bricks of the foundry-wall. “Varric tells me that you yelled at him for not telling you where I was?”

“Yes,” the Seeker snapped stiffly, she was still nursing her wounds from the disagreement with Varric and didn’t fancy a repeat of that with Hawke, “I may have lost my temper.” She still couldn’t see the other warrior, beyond the outline of her figure hidden in shadow. Her figure seemed to loom larger because of the sharp, spiked  pauldrons merged together in the low light. 

Hawke seemed to have no such worries when she pushed herself from the wall, stalking around the back of Cassandra, light on her feet despite the layers of steel plate. Hawke chuckled, ‘ _ ha, ha, ha.’  _ Each syllable was punctuated with a step that sent a shiver up Cassandra’s spine, Hawke was armoured where Cassandra was not, probably armed while Cassandra was not. 

Cassandra felt a single sting of nervousness tighten in her throat. She swallowed hard, it had been a long time since she had come face to face with Marian Hawke. 

Her face was almost at Cassandra’s shoulder when she asked the damning question, “so you didn’t tell him why you wanted me?”

It was an accusation that was bordering on the truth, but Cassandra looked forward resolutely. Refusing, with the last scrap of her stubborn pride, to look back at Hawke. Cassandra only sighed her disapproval, “he doesn’t have to know everything. And it seemed that you never told him about us either.”

Hawke’s breath was practically in Cassandra’s ear when she purred, “so now that you have me, what shall you do with me?” The Champion’s question is accompanied by her hand slipping around Cassandra’s waist. 

Which caused Cassandra’s breathing to hitch, her lungs burning as she needed air, but Cassnadra seemed to have forgotten how. “We needed-“ Cassandra started, but her words fell to breathlessness as she felt the hand around her waist tighten into a fist. And all of her thoughts circled around that patch of skin on her abdomen where Hawke was touching her.

“‘We?’ Please, Princess, if you wanted a Hero you already knew where one was, I’m holding one now.” 

Cassandra froze, utterly aware of her fingers at her belly, the body behind her and the absolute despicable truth of Hawke’s words. So she said painfully simply, “don’t call me that.”

“Why not? Is it, ‘Princess?’ Or ‘Hero of Orlais,’ that is your esteemed title, isn’t it?” Hawke asked, moving closer, pressing the hard curves of her body against Cassandra’s back. “You could have been ‘Inquisitor,’” Hawke’s voice dropped to a sultry whisper, “if you only reached out and taken it when you had the chance.” The way she moved made it plain she wasn’t in fact talking about the Inquisitor. 

“Marian,” Cassandra hissed, turning around to face her, a little grateful that Hawke hadn’t dropped her arm and now her hand was splayed against the small of Cassandra’s back. 

The hard lines of Marian Hawke’s face broke into a grin, high cheekbones, painted crimson lips and eyes the colour of the midday sky. “I know you didn’t want to be the Inquisitor, but I think you only hounded Varric because you just wanted round two.” 

“Do not try to seduce me.” Her voice had about all the force of a blow from a banana nailed to a stick.  _ Forceless, a little squishy.  _

Marian Hawke laughed with a sound which was as thick as Antivan wine. “I’ve been away too long, is it not working?”

Cassandra glanced around the empty room, the air still warm from the heat of the forge that had been burning during the day. Although the fires were long extinguished the heat was held in the walls. Despite the heat, Cassandra felt a shiver across her spine. “Marian.” She warned again, feeling unsettled, like she had taken her first step onto a river boat and she hadn’t yet regained her balance. 

“What?” Marian Hawke asked drawing out the word with a giggle, in a manner that didn’t suit her. But she said it with such a coy smile that lit up all of her features. Harsh brows descended as her eyes narrowed. 

For a moment Cassandra glared then, she reached forward to pull a strand of Hawke’s dark hair between her fingers, in the candlelight it looked black, but Cassandra knew it wasn’t, flecked with browns and auburns. “Your hair’s getting long.” When she’d thought the words they were neutral, but once out of her mouth Cassandra realised that they were anything but. 

“And yet yours is the same as ever, I’m starting to suspect you don’t really like change.” Hawke countered, with a raised eyebrow at the avoided question. 

She dropped her hand from Hawke’s hair to her cheek, and she met Hawke’s eyes, and sighed. Cassandra was quite convinced that her soul had left her body and instead was replaced by some spirit of insanity, her pitch raising a little desperately, “it’s working, it worked, can we not skip the pleasantries?”

Hawke swept her close, insufferably smug look on her face that did suit her in a telling way, “oh we can, if you want to show me which one of these rooms is yours?” 

  
  



End file.
